


let me hide myself in thee

by Ljósfari (Ljosfari)



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst in Porn's Clothing, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Katabasis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ljosfari/pseuds/Lj%C3%B3sfari
Summary: Hate me!, Mara wanted to scream,Curse my name! Spit on my grave! I deserve nothing less!No, Petra could never do that. Not sweet, chivalrous Petra.
Relationships: Mara Sov/Petra Venj
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	let me hide myself in thee

Mara held on to her Wrath’s shoulders – _good shoulders_ , she thought, a knot of grief stuck in her throat, _good shoulders to carry the weight of the Reef upon them_ – as she rode Petra’s hips. What a gentle lover her Petra was, how tenderly did her calloused hand cup her thigh as she fucked her, how warm her kisses down Mara’s collarbone and breasts were. How undeserved did that love and reverence feel. 

She was about to bring the Reef to the slaughter, a hecatomb on Oryx's altar. She was about to ruin Petra's life, to put her through the most illustrious of punishments, the most painful of honors. _Hate me!_ , Mara wanted to scream, _Curse my name! Spit on my grave! I deserve nothing less!_

No, Petra could never do that. Not sweet, chivalrous Petra, who now firmly held on to Mara's buttocks as she quickened the pace of her hips, eye closed and lips parted. Mara could feel her own heart turning inside out, all her grief and fear and guilt spilling out yet still unable to cry – unwilling to cry, for how could she burden her Wrath with a sorrow that was only meant for herself? 

“My lady,” Petra had stopped and looked at Mara with great concern, cupping her face with both hands, “do you want me to stop?” 

Mara hesitated. "It's fine," she demurred, but Petra was having none of it.

"You are absolutely not fine. Come on." Petra coaxed her ladyship down to the mattress with gentle yet firm hands, trapping Mara's groan when she slid out of her in a kiss. She deftly unbuckled the strap-on and laid beside Mara, taking her Queen's hand in hers. 

"Can't get tomorrow out of your head, right?" Petra chastely kissed her knuckles, and Mara strove not to flinch away from her tenderness. 

Her sympathy hurt more than her reproach would.

"I don't want to think about that." Mara covered her face with her hands and groaned. 

Her soul squirmed under Petra's compassionate look, like maggots scurrying away from sunlight. Her words were phlegm stuck to her throat – her head heavy with the weight of thousands of deaths – but what were those deaths compared to having invented death itself to be able to return here to die again – and was she driving the Reef to its demise with her, without the Armada to defend it, without able hands to nurture it? – and would they blame Petra for something that was only Mara's fault? 

After the Wolves took Petra's youth away, after Mara took her anger and whittled it in the shape of a knife, was that what Mara wanted to give her in return? The keys to the ruins of her kingdom, and the weight of an absent crown? 

She could not cough it all out. Not before her Wrath. Instead she sank into the mattress and mumbled: "I have taken so much from you." 

Petra's lips curved in a beatific smile. "Only what I wished to give to you, Mara." 

Mara looked for an objection to lash out with, but found nothing. She let Petra embrace her – strong, safe arms that squeeze some of her anguish away – basking in Petra's warm fealty. 

How very like Petra to cut through layers of worry, of plans upon plans that pile up over Mara until they asphyxiate her, with her plain and fierce devotion. 

"Let me," Mara heaved a sigh, "let me give back some of it. Before I'm gone." 

"You don't have to give me back anything."

"But I want to. I..." Mara rolled on her side to be closer to her Wrath, resting her leg over Petra's own and cupping her cheek with one hand. She traced Petra's full lips with her thumb, and couldn't help but smile when she sucked on it, teasing the pad of Mara's thumb with her tongue. Petra smiled back and let go of her ladyship's thumb. "I want to leave a good memory of tonight for you. If you want me to." 

Petra acquiesced with a soft, slow kiss that felt like being rebuilt. "Please."

And so Queen Mara Sov made her way down her Wrath's body, committing her shape to memory, making her image treasure in her barrow. 

The sharp edge of her jaw, the soft swell of her lips. The curve of her back as she arched under her kisses. How her breath hitched when Mara's lips found her nipples. The shifting, silvery shimmer on her skin. Carmine hair flaring out over the mattress. Hips rocking in anticipation. Her hands tangling on Mara's hair as she went down, down the expanse of her abs to her jutting hipbones, to her thighs and her cunt, slick and expectant. Her legs eagerly spreading for her Queen. Her taste on her tongue. How her legs embraced her, how her thighs clasped her head, how she shook and panted and moaned under Mara's fervent attentions, as she branded her memory between her Wrath's legs. 

All of this Mara hoarded for herself, for respite in her descent into the Underworld.

**Author's Note:**

> A thank you to [Lyerre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyerre) for her editing/proofreading work and to [MxSovereign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxSovereign) for the grammar advice. 
> 
> Once again, dang, it's hard to write Mara.


End file.
